


Down Time

by sceptick



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, That's it, that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sceptick/pseuds/sceptick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Got something else in mind?” she says, trying and failing to keep her voice steady. </p><p>“Well, you know me,” he says, running his hands down her neck to her shoulders, down her arms to her hips, where his fingers begin to play with the waistband of her pants. “I’m always full of ideas.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down Time

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to elvabarr, who betaed this despite not being in fma:b fandom, and also came up with the title! All remaining errors are mine. I don't own fma:b.

 

Riza’s only just settled down on the couch, kicked her feet up on the coffee table, and opened her book, when the lock turns and the door opens. She doesn’t bother to look up. This is the first she’s been off her feet all day, and if it isn’t Roy, well, that’s what the gun lying next to her feet is for. It is him, of course. Every single time he visits her place, he nearly knocks over her coat-stand, bumping into it and then cursing, and this time is no different. Thumbing her way through the pages of her book to where she left off last, Riza stifles a smile.  
  
She lets herself get sucked into the story, allowing the noises of Roy shuffling around her apartment to fade into the background. The heroine, Sasha, has chosen to turn aside from her lover in order to hunt down the man who killed her father. Armed with only her wits, a small knife, and her best friend Clion, she sets out from her village at dawn --  
  
There’s a scraping sound nearby, and Riza looks up to see Roy, the sleeves of his white button-up rolled to his elbows, still wearing his uniform pants, pushing her gun aside to sit on the coffee table across from her. She frowns. He holds up his hands with a sheepish grin. “I didn’t scratch the table, I swear,” he says.  
  
“Good,” she says, and returns to her book. A moment later, though, she feels his fingers wrap lightly around her left ankle, the thumb rubbing circles below the bone bump above her heel. She wiggles her toes a little involuntarily, and he chuckles. His thumb presses in deeply along the arch of her foot, teasing out the aches of the day. It feels heavenly. Still --  
  
“I’m trying to read,” she complains. It’s the principle of the thing.  
  
“Am I stopping you from doing so?” he says, lifting her foot from the table to place it in his lap. He sets to work with both of his hands now. The words blur on the page as Riza’s eyes close for the barest moment. When she glances up at him, he’s smirking at her, not even watching what his hands are doing. Damn him for being so good at this.  
  
“You’re being deliberately distracting,” she says. Her tone is perfectly even, despite the way the knuckles of his right hand are kneading at the ball of her foot, while his left hand curls and flexes her toes.  
  
He sighs then, and his face goes endearingly serious. “I know how hard you work. I just want to help you relax, if I can.”  
  
She can’t hold back her smile. Resting the book in her lap, she leans forward to cup his face with one hand, running her thumb along his cheekbone. He smiles into her palm, and she pulls him in for a small, chaste kiss. Then she settles back into the cushions, picking up her book again. “Go ahead, then, colonel,” she says.  
  
For a few minutes, he works in silence. He pushes the bottom of her loose pajama pants up to her knee to run his fingers soothingly up her calf, pressing into her aching muscles just right. At some point, he brings her right foot into his lap too. He alternates between them, working out all the kinks until her feet feel loose and warm. Her head buzzes, and she stops trying to focus on the words on the page in front of her, letting her neck hang heavy and her eyes close.  
  
It’s only when he starts moving up further, sliding himself forward to the very edge of the table to reach past her knees, that she looks up again. He’s staring down at his hands, watching them against her skin. He slips them up the legs of her pajama pants to climb further, and her breath catches slightly. Only then does he lift his face to meet her gaze, and he smirks. His thumbs trace tiny lines back-and-forth along the inside of her thighs.  
  
“Now,” he says, and his voice is slightly hoarse, “I am being deliberately distracting.”  
  
She hums quietly. Her hips shift slightly, knees falling open. She slides forward on the couch into his touch. He smiles, and she rolls her eyes at him, fighting a smile of her own. “I noticed,” is all she says.  
  
“Purely for the purpose of furthering your relaxation.”  
  
“I’m sure.”  
  
He slides off the coffee table and onto his knees in front of her, then leans up for a kiss. It’s slow, languid; his lips brushing hers teasingly, deepening the kiss, retreating for a brief moment, then pressing forward again. His fingers squeeze her thighs when she slips her tongue between his lips. Finally, she puts her book completely aside in order to wind her fingers into his hair, pulling him even closer. He moans quietly into her mouth.  
  
For a few minutes, that’s all there is: his hands on her thighs, their bodies pressed together on the very edge of the couch as they kiss. Then he pulls away. His eyes are slightly dazed, like he’s been hit in the head with something heavy, and his lips are red and spit-slick. Riza very nearly refuses to let him go. He must see the look in her eye, because he laughs, freeing his hands to cup her face for one last kiss. Then he backs away again.  
  
“Got something else in mind?” she says, trying and failing to keep her voice steady.  
  
“Well, you know me,” he says, running his hands down her neck to her shoulders, down her arms to her hips, where his fingers begin to play with the waistband of her pants. “I’m always full of ideas.”  
  
“I know that,” she says. “Ideas of ways to get out of paperwork, ideas of ways to piss off Edward --”  
  
“Oh, god, don’t bring Fullmetal up right now. I’m trying to set a mood here.”  
  
She grins at the horrified look on his face. He scowls, but after a single, full-body shudder of disgust, he returns to the task at hand. “I’m going to forget you ever said any of that. The insults or the -- other thing.”  
  
“You’re too kind, sir.”  
  
“Damn straight.” He plucks at the waistband of her pants. “Are you comfortable there, lieutenant?”  
  
She settles back into the cushions, raising a questioning eyebrow his way. “Do you have something against my couch?”  
  
“Not at all,” he says, smiling up at her. “It’s a great couch. Sturdy.” Finally, he grips the waistband of her pants fully and begins to tug them down. She lifts her hips obligingly, then kicks them off from around her ankles.  
  
“Mmm,” Roy says, leaning in to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh and nuzzling there. “You smell good.”  
  
“You’d say that even if I didn’t,” she says, running a lazy hand through his hair.  
  
“I might not,” he says. She snorts. He looks up at her, mock-frowning. “Are you calling me whipped, lieutenant?”  
  
She smirks, and he laughs ruefully as he says, “Well. You’re not wrong.”  
  
She tugs lightly at his hair. “I rarely am, colonel.”  
  
He acknowledges that with a grin and a nod before returning to his work. He kisses his way up the inside of her thigh, hands running lightly up and down her calves. Sighing, Riza tilts her head back to rest against the back of the couch. His lips leave shivers in their wake. He makes his way up one thigh, almost all the way there -- and then switches sides, going back down her other leg. When he reaches her knee, he presses his temple to it, turning his face up to give her a cheeky grin.  
  
“Roy.”  
  
He grins even wider. “You’re so bossy,” he says, and he brings his hands up to her waist once more to twist in the elastic of her underwear. “Up,” he says, and she lifts, letting him tug them down her hips and off.  
  
For a moment, he’s still, staring up at her with soft eyes. He’s still holding her underwear in one hand. He looks young, and sweet, and unbearably handsome (if maybe a little ridiculous) and she can’t help but smile at him. She leans down to curl a hand around the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss. She keeps it short -- only seconds later, she pulls back a breath, and whispers, “Quit slacking, sir.”  
  
He licks his lips. “As you wish, lieutenant.”  
  
Grinning, she settles back into the cushions. Roy curls the fingers of one hand around her right ankle, runs them up her calf to her knee, and lifts her leg over his shoulder. Riza closes her eyes.  
  
He starts slow. A soft kiss at the very spot where her thigh ends; she can feel the warmth of his skin, so close, and she can’t help but shift into it. He chuckles, and moves in to brush his lips to the base of her slit, light as a whisper. She feels the soft pressure of his tongue move against her. She shivers and brings a hand down to curl in his hair, running it through her fingers and enjoying the way he hums his pleasure into her skin.  
  
His mouth works at her, wet heat sliding against her folds and dipping in, tasting, before retreating. She tugs him closer, and then his nose is nuzzling against her clit with his every move. It’s only the tiniest hint of pressure, teasing; she tries to tug again but he resists, and when she glances down, his eyes are glittering with mischief. She rolls her eyes but gives in. It helps that he chooses that very moment to run the flat of his tongue up the length of her slit, hard and smooth. It helps a lot. God.  
  
He quickens his pace, working in broad strokes, sliding against the sides of her labia and stopping just short of the base of her clit. There’s a slow heat building inside of her, and the little noises Roy makes with every pass stoke the fire. She’s not sure he’s even aware he’s making them -- his eyes are half-closed, his brow furrowed, his whole attention focused on her. His hair slips through her fingers with sweat. She tightens her grip, and he moans, his mouth pressed hard against her. She can feel the noise resonate in her skin; she swallows back a moan of her own, squeezing her eyes shut and gripping the edge of the couch with her free hand so hard that her knuckles must be white.  
  
Riza’s skin is burning hot, in sharp contrast to the cool sweat dripping down her back. The firm pressure Roy is applying on every downstroke brings his tongue slipping into her sharply, and she arches off the couch. The cool air that rushes in brings prickly goosebumps to her skin. He catches himself, resuming his steady and even strokes, just hard and wet enough to drive her crazy. With one hand, Riza draws her left knee up to her chest, tilting her hips more firmly into his mouth. Her foot rests on his shoulder, where the edge of his shirt collar tickles the arch.  
  
It’s all becoming too much, too fast, too good; Riza’s head is pressing back into the couch and she’s panting quietly, trying to keep going as long as she can. Roy’s fingers dig into her thigh, holding her in place while he has his wicked way with her. Riza’s lost to the feeling of it; his mouth moving cleverly against her, licking and sucking, and he’s still making all these sounds. The sweet, prickling tension building in the pit of her stomach strains to the breaking point, and she whimpers, working her hips helplessly into his mouth, needing just a little bit more --  
  
“Roy,” she says. Her fingers tighten in his hair; her toes curl, digging into the firm muscle of his shoulder. The steady, merciless pressure of his tongue pushes her over the edge, and Riza comes with a strained moan, her whole body shaking with the sudden release of tension. Between her legs, Roy makes a satisfied noise and his motions become softer, gentler, slow teasing until she comes back down. Then he props his chin up on her thigh, and smiles dopily. “Feeling sufficiently relaxed, lieutenant?”  
  
She chuckles, a little giddily, and loosens her grip on his hair, running her fingers through it more gently than before. Her breathing slows. “Have I mentioned how good you are at that, recently?”  
  
“Only the best for you,” he says. He reaches up to take her hand in his and brings it down to press his lips to her knuckles. She smiles softly. For all his bluster, Roy Mustang is the world’s biggest dork when he’s in love.  
  
She slips her calves off his shoulders so that she can trap him by his shirt-collar and pull him up into a kiss. “Mmm,” she says, smirking at the hungry noise he makes, “And does the best include making me dinner? I’d do it myself, but I’m just so relaxed right now.”  
  
“I could be convinced,” he says. He gets one knee up on the couch for leverage to deepen the kiss, cupping her face in his hands.  
  
“Well,” she says, pulling away and affecting a thoughtful expression, “After slaving away over dinner, you’ll probably be pretty tired. Maybe even in need of some relaxation of your own.” She presses a final, light kiss to the corner of his mouth, disentangles herself, retrieves her book, and settles in beside him, flipping to the page she’d left off at.  
  
Roy rearranges himself into a more normal sitting position, chuckling. “I could be amenable to that,” he says. “Sounds like a win-win situation, in fact.”  
  
She looks up from her book to throw him a quick sidelong smile. “We haven’t gotten a lot of those in our day, sir. I figure it’s about time.”  
  
His answering smile is unbearably soft. “I couldn’t agree more, lieutenant,” he says.  
  
Sasha, has chosen to turn aside from her lover in order to hunt the man who killed her father. Armed with only her wits, a small knife, and her best friend Clion --  
  
Riza glances up from her book. Roy’s still sitting beside her, and now he’s reading over her shoulder, too.  
  
“Sir?” she says, quirking an eyebrow. “Change your mind about dinner?”  
  
He smiles sheepishly. “No,” he says, “I just, uh, need a minute. Before I stand up.”  
  
She stares at him, then glances down, then back up. She can’t quite help the smug smirk that tugs at her lips. “I see,” she says. “Well. Take your time, by all means.”  
  
“Thanks,” Roy says, scowling comically. She doesn’t bother to hold back her snickering. She’ll make it up to him later.  
  


 

 


End file.
